


Counsels of the North Kingdom

by Rubynye



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, F/M, Interspecies, Original Character(s), POV Original Character, Size Difference, The Shire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-13
Updated: 2010-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-02 11:25:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lonely young soldier of Gondor meets a beautiful hobbit matron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counsels of the North Kingdom

**Author's Note:**

> This was intended to be the eventual sequel to "Snare" (and its longer version and the sequel to that, which are on my AO3), where Pervinca Took makes some closure for herself for her experiences during the year the Shire was occupied by Ruffians, and does a ~~boy~~ young man a good turn as well. I had kind of a thing for interspecies het that not many people shared. *waves to a couple people who did*

So, WIP Amnesties this week, fic next week, or so I'm planning.

Title: Counsels of the North Kingdom  
Fandom: LOTR (hobbits and Men)  
Rating: As it is: PG-15. As it would have been: NC-17  
Pairing: Pervinca Took/OMC (Artung, Soldier of Gondor)  
Notes: This was intended to be the eventual sequel to "Snare" (and its longer version and the sequel to that, which are on my AO3), where Pervinca Took makes some closure for herself for her experiences during the year the Shire was occupied by Ruffians, and does a ~~boy~~ young man a good turn as well. I had kind of a thing for interspecies het that not many people shared. *waves to a couple people who did*

Being not on watch and having no set duty at the moment, Artung slipped from the barracks and his fellow soldiers' company, intending to sit beneath the evening sky. As he went, treading quietly as he might, he glanced about him, up at the clouds flaming in the west and the first stars twinkling in the east, ahead to the low gleam of the river, the finely turfed land curving down to meet it. The Shire was a lovely place, fresh and green, rounded with hills and dales; even the houses he'd seen were rounded and set into the earth rather than placed atop it. Amidst the curvaceous landscape the barracks for the King's soldiers sat upon its patch of ground looking squat and square and dark and utterly out of place as he glanced back at it.

Artung felt scarcely less out of place himself. He'd thought it would be an adventure when his captain and eldest brother Beretung had chosen him to join Ithilien's representatives among the King's Western company. Ten years Artung's elder, Beretung remembered the War of the Ring as Artung did not, and envied him the chance to see the land from whence had come the little and mighty Ringbearer. In truth the Shire was all he'd envisioned and more, as fertile as the best of Ithilien, its folk hearty and gracious, plump and cheery. And yet... although the children were curious and round-eyed, running up to the soldiers, fingering their gear and demanding to be lifted, the grown halflings were briskly friendly rather than lingering, and sometimes Artung caught a hint of fear in their eyes. They too recalled the War of the Ring, the occupation of their land by rough men of low degree. Artung's fellow soldiers seemed not to notice, as they had not noticed the wonders of the journey south through the great and terrible forest and along the gold-flowing Baranduin, and between their stolid pleasantry and the halflings' standoffish hospitality Artung felt quite alone.

He felt most alone when he looked at the halfling women, their skirts draping their rounded hips and swirling round their well-turned ankles, their plump bosoms peeping from their laced bodices, their cheeks round and pink, their eyes and lips full and bright. They were sturdy as their menfolk yet light-footed and graceful, their plumpness toothsome curvaceousness. Though halflings were of a height with children, since the War of the Ring no one would mistake them for such, and Artung could not help but feel his blood surge whenever his eye fell upon one of the lovely little halfling maidens. He tried to hide it, lest he make them fear him all the more for displaying rampant lusts, but he'd dreamed of them each of the nine nights since his arrival.

How their soft round arms might feel in his hands, how their plush little mouths might yield to his... he clenched his fist now to drive off the thought renewed, and dropped upon the riverbank, pulling off his boots and plunging his feet into the still-chilly water. It had been eight nights since they'd come to bide in this summer Shire-field along the golden River, two nights since Midsummer and the King's ceremonial meeting with the princes of the halflings, and though the days since had held fewer duties that leisure left Artung more time to think and to yearn. They had six nights remaining at the least, and Artung knew not how he'd endure. He'd had only one lover as yet, his brother's friend and seargant Taravorn, and that was over a year past by now, some months when he was eighteen. He swung his feet in the water and recalled Taravorn fondly, but with little heat; for all their nights together, Taravorn's strongest loyalties always lay with Beretung and their duties in the daytime, and he'd sent Artung on his way with a dry-eyed smile and a firm kiss.

In Minas Tirith Artung had rediscovered the grace of women, but he'd had no time aside of his duties, no friends who could make introductions to one of the closely-kept maidens, and in the end he was intended to travel onwards. In Annuminas, the city rising anew in tents and scaffolding, he'd traded smiles with a particular girl whose path kept crossing with his, but though he could recall the exact wave of the honey-gold lock that always peeked from her wimple to frame her face, he hadn't yet found courage to ask her name. Besides, he understood from his agemates that he was precocious if anything; his wiser elders told him he had all the time in the world.

Likely he did, in these days of peace, but still his blood raced in his veins, fierce and hot, till he sometimes felt he should burst or go mad. He wouldn't want to dishonor his golden-haired lass, but he longed, how he longed.

Just as he was thinking this a soft plashy sound, somehow different from the soft rustles and birdcalls of burgeoning night, made him glance up to see a hobbit lady with a lantern poling a raft of woven willow up the river. As she drew near he could see by her lanternlight and the moon that her raft also bore a basket, that she was unwrinkled with age but not a maiden either, that her hair was a warm brown caught up in a knot, tendrils falling alongside her slender neck, her shawl of fine lace, her fair face somehow familiar. She poled unhurriedly, humming a gentle song to herself, and when she reached the near bank she looked up at Artung, a sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks, her mouth a little too wide for full plumpness, her smile bright and clear up to her eyes. "May I have a hand?" she asked.

Artung's mouth had stuck fast, and though he should say, 'yes, my lady,' he could but nod, scramble to his knees, and reach out to her. She handed up her basket and then her lantern, smiling enticingly all the while, and Artung hardly knew where he set them; then she laid her warm, fine-boned hand in his, turned and braced her small weight against his grip, and tugged the raft up onto the bank. "There," she said with slightly breathless satisfaction. "Hullo, soldier lad, what's your name?"

Some hours later it was full moonrise, a thick crescent sailing across the sky, and Artung sat on the Brandywine's bank, as the halflings named it. Beside him in the grass, easy as one of the unselfconscious children, lay Mistress Pervinca Took, sister of Peregrin Took the Thain, who had been a member of the Fellowship of the Ring. She resembled him greatly, and when Artung had realized her kinship and begun to babble she'd coolly said, "he puts on his breeches one leg at a time, my dear."

Mistress Pervinca herself -- she would not let Artung call her "Mistress Took" -- was cheerful and knowing and gave Artung the sense that the world was far larger and more varied than even his travels with the Army had shown him. She fed him a variety of richly flavored little tidbits, crumbly hand-cakes flavored with sweet herb seeds and flaky hand-pies filled with honeyed fruit, small sandwiches of savory ham, milky cheese, and fragrant herbs, and a wedge of a pie made with eggs and smoked bacon. She gave him drink in a little mug she kept refilling, mouthful by mouthful of ale from a brown jug and hard cider from a red one. And as she fed him and watered him, she chatted cheerfully and astoundingly, asking him about Ithilien and Annuminas, telling him of her life in the Shire, commenting with wit and tartness on so many things.

At length, his own wits slightly fuzzed by the ale and cider, Artung told her of his hunger for touch and how beautiful she was. She laughed, propped up on her elbows, slender throat pale in the moonlight, and said, "You poor chit, 'tis a pity Men don't consider tweenhood. You could use a few years of careless fun. At the least, someone should teach you how you might please a lass and yourself without risk of catching a child. Didn't that kissing-friend of yours ever tell you what he might have done with you were you a girl?"

Artung shook his head. "He told me I was too young to be wed, and I was."

Pervinca rolled her eyes at that, shaking her head. "And so you are, but that's no reason to keep you ignorant. Look here, you know how you might get a child, at least?" At this she got up on her knees, gesturing with her hands, and described in frank language the act of marital joining; as Artung stared at her open-mouthed she laughed and went on to relate how to bring a woman pleasure with fingers and tongue, motioning over her body in a manner that made Artung envision his own fingers on her skin, his own tongue between her thighs, until his face burned like a coal.

"Do try not to be carried away on that rushing tide of hot young blood," said Pervinca, getting to her feet; struck sore with the seeming chiding, Artung caught breath to beg her pardon, and lost it in a gasp as she reached behind her head, her smile tilted as her hair tumbled down around her. "Still, don't worry too much about it; a little roughness carries the sweetness of passion." Her fine fingers pulled the lacing of her bodice free, and when it slid down her arms her breasts peeped round and full through the fine chemise.

"My lady!" Artung stirred his leaden tongue to speech at last. "My lady, what do you mean?"

"You could use a tumble, lad," she said, plainly and directly, as her skirt puddled round her feet. "Would you like to have me?" She pushed off her chemise and her underbloomers and stood before him, pale and freckled and delectable, and his member chafed against his own breeches' placket, so hard it ached.

"My lady," Artung stammered again, and Pervinca laughed, stepping from the pile of her clothes, walking up to press herself to him, her bosom to his cheek, her hands in his hair, her body warm by his. Artung's hands closed upon her skin more tightly than he meant, but she just laughed again, tilting her face to his.

 

 

[The first time he gets a little carried away; afterwards she has him go down on her, and then they have a second that's more leisurley, and then she tells him about her siege-running in the YOT and thanks him for giving her a better memory. Then sleep, sex third time before/at dawn and then she rafts away.]

['the raft is set, and she introduces himself, and scene change to talking late in the night and then kissing. Somewhere in there she lauhgs breathlessly and tells him he doesn't have to be so gentle and careful.]

[The Shire, the wide world, still bear scars from the war, etc, and aren't what he expected, and also the hobbitwomen seen from afar make him feel lonely, with their bright faces and bright dresses, and he just feels emo. Late that night Pervinca comes over on the ferry with a basket on her arm, feeds and liquors him (brandy, distilled scented pomace brandy, and blueberry wine called Long Cleeve Love Potion which leads to Pervinca relating how she teased Diamond that she used it on Pippin) (they talk, and she's surprised to hear he joined the army at 14 and has hardly seen women these five years) and seduces him, during which she says, "you can do that harder" and entices him to tup her harder. She says, "you're not a virgin, right?" and he asks, "do I seem that inexperienced?" and she says, "no, rather unjaded". Then he asks if he's the first Man she's had and she tells him about her YOT experiences and they have sex again, then snuggle. (He licks her to please her but also rouses himself so much he wants to fuck her again.) In the grey predawn they have sex once more, and she calls him a human equivalent of a tween, and he nods and kisses her, and watches her ferry herself back over and walk back.]

 

Pix: <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shire_(Middle-earth>)  
<http://lotro.tentonhammer.com/files/gallery/albums/LotRO_Screenshots/Shire_Windmill.jpg>  
<http://kittenslitter.files.wordpress.com/2007/02/lotro-the-shire.jpg>  
<http://www.gamehobby.net/images/products/lotr_scouring_of_the_shire.jpg>

Sky:  
<http://antwrp.gsfc.nasa.gov/apod/ap080112.html>

<http://rubynye.livejournal.com/259713.html?thread=3333249#t3333249>

 

When King Elessar met the Hobbit Councillors of the North Kingdom at the Brandywine Bridge, Pervinca accompanied her brother. Late at night, she took the ferry over to the far bank, where a lonely, bewildered young soldier sat trailing his feet in the River and skipping stones in the moonlight, and talked to him for two hours.

From the young soldier's POV. A sequel to the "Pay" duology, Pervinca taking a Man for pleasure/to get over that darkness.

Artung's 19.

Pervinca likens her dealing with the Men to being in battle, feeling particularly intensely alive. Her only weapons were her prettiness, her wiles, and the fact that the Ruffians wanted to smush hobbits.


End file.
